


The Past Is Past Is Future Is Present

by clarityhiding



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Booster Gold (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics), Gotham Central, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Allonormativity/Allonormative, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Aphobic Language, Aromantic Tim Drake, Case Fic, Civilian Jason Todd, Civilian Tim Drake, Detective Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, F/M, Female Tim Drake, Friendship, Identity Reveal, Masturbation, Multi, Nail Polish, Sibling Bonding, Time Travel, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22104730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarityhiding/pseuds/clarityhiding
Summary: Nightwing tackles a mad science rogue (as one does) and comes down with a nasty case of time-travel germs. In the course of trying to get that fixed, he reveals his identity and learns some things. After everything is put back to rights, he learns even more, including how little Dick, Jr. does not in fact have magical properties. Also features civilian!always-a-girl!Tim and civilian!Jason, just for fun.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), one-sided Tim Drake/Dick Grayson - Relationship
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39





	The Past Is Past Is Future Is Present

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to ayzenigma (comma _goddess_ ) and chibi_nightowl for betaing.
> 
> **Note about the tags:** The aphobic language is just a few lines spoken out of ignorance, but if anyone would like more details before reading to be safe, drop a comment and I'd be more than happy to expand.

It's.

Nightwing is fighting a villain, as one does. Some thief with a ray gun that he's using to steal and transport valuables some way or another—who knows how, he's not entirely sure the thief really understands the science behind the advanced technology he's using. It should be something straight-forward, cut and dried. It _should_ be.

The ray gun, it would seem, doesn't do well with unexpected surges of electricity. Which would have been a good thing to know _before_ the thief chose to use it to block a blow from one of Nightwing's charged escrima sticks.

For several long seconds, the entire world goes black-and-white, freeze-framed like life is in the flash of a camera, only for much longer than a moment. Nightwing is starting to truly fear that they’ve somehow broken the world when there's a _BANG_ and he's thrown across the room even as color bleeds back into things.

When he finally gets back on his feet and toddles unsteadily over to where he was before, there's a charred blast circle on the floor, a twisted hunk of metal and plastic that he's assuming used to be the ray gun, and a pair of smoking boots whose rubber soles have fused to the marble floor. Beyond the boots and the gun, there's no sign of the thief.

Still fighting to clear the ringing from his ears, Nightwing tries to raise some help on his comm. He's not all that surprised to find it's been shorted out, along with every other electronic device on his person. Thank goodness he was holding the stick with specially insulated gloves, otherwise there might be two pairs of smoking boots stuck to the floor.

In the end, he wanders out of the jewelry store to the nearest payphone, marvels at the fact that it still works in this age of cellphones and selfies, and calls the GCPD to the scene. "You should probably send someone who knows something about mad science tech," he advises whoever's on the other end, not that he can hear them through the ringing. "It looks pretty nasty."

He leaves before they reach the scene.

* * *

It takes a few days for Dick to realize that anything is different. Mostly because he's being run ragged on too little sleep, what with how Bruce is off dealing with some League thing in space, leaving just Dick and Damian and the girls to pick up all of Batman's slack. It also doesn't help that some idiot is taking too goddamn long to restock the regular coffee in the precinct. It wouldn't normally be an issue, but with Bruce's absence he's pulling night and day shifts, and he is lacking both the sleep and the brain cells to deal with this.

"Morning, Detective Grayson," the girl at the front desk greets, waggling her fingers at him as she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her fingernails sparkle in the harsh fluorescents that light up the reception desk, and he veers sideways to get a better look.

"New polish?" he asks, trying to track her hands until she extends one out to him. The nails of her thumb, pinky, and ring finger are all painted sparkly black while the nails of the remaining fingers are an iridescent version of a very familiar-looking blue. "Very slick," he says, catching a hand so he can better admire it and—

> —and suddenly he's no longer holding the hand, it's sliding down, the distinctively painted nails rubbing over the front of panties that exact same shade of blue, edged with black lace. Panties that are quickly turning dark as those fingers tease and rub, coaxing tantalizing sounds from the woman above.
> 
> Swallowing thickly, Dick looks up into those piercing blue eyes, framed by long, wild, mussed-up black hair. "Hey, what's—

—going on?" 

She blinks, frowning and tilting her head to the side as she studies him. Her hair is carefully brushed back, neatly framing her face in a cute pixie cut. "Huh? What do you mean?" she asks, pressing her fingertips into his palm.

Dick's ears immediately heat up as he remembers what he just saw—hallucinated?—those fingers doing, and he quickly yanks his hand back. "Ah, nothing, just—new haircut?"

"Yes! Do you like it? I normally don't have the patience to try anything so high-maintenance, but I thought it would be a nice change." She smiles at him, pink-glossed lips just a shade or two darker than her own rosy cheeks.

"It really suits you," he tells her, though he does miss the long locks that were forever slipping loose of a hurriedly made bun. Not that he's paying that much attention to his coworkers or anything.

"Thank you." She smiles slow and brilliant, and Dick finds himself beaming back—right up until the smile falls from her face to be replaced with a look of flustered consternation. "Oh! Sorry, Detective MacDonald left fifteen minutes ago to check out a crime scene. Second shift was supposed to look into it, but they were swamped with multiple reports of fear gas near City Hall last night, so it was passed on to first shift. Something about a thief using mad science? She left an address."

She hands him a sticky note, and Dick suppresses a groan that threatens to escape when he recognizes it. "Ah, thanks, Ms. Drake."

"Considering how long we've known each other, you should call me by my name," she insists.

"Only if you call me Dick," he tosses back with a wink, just like he always does.

* * *

Josie is poking around a familiar-looking jewelry store when Dick shows up. "What gives? Didn't this get called in four, five nights ago?"

"Try three, which you'd know if you didn't spend all your time making eyes at the girl at the front desk," his partner chides, like she doesn't know Dick is never anything but a gentleman when it comes to the estimably lovely Thea.

"Point still stands."

"Yeah, well. Apparently it's had some kind of funky force-field around it until early this morning, keeping everyone out. Lucky us, huh?"

"That sounds… I don't remember hearing about that?" He _definitely_ doesn't remember witnessing anything like that when he was here the other night. Dick hops over a pile of broken cement and twisted rebar—another new addition—to get a closer look, reaching out to steady himself against a formerly elegant support column when—

> —the light shifts, and he's looking at himself, escrima stick extended as he's momentarily frozen in time. The only movements are the slow-moving arcs of electricity between the stick and the ray gun, still in one piece, still held by the thief from the other night. The circle of black isn't yet burned into the floor.
> 
> He isn't sure what's going on, but he has to stop this, keep the same horrible tragedy from repeating itself. Cupping his hands, he shouts, "Break the connec—

—tion!" Dick blinks, then blinks again several more times, trying to clear the strange ghost of double-vision from eyes. Nightwing and the thief are gone, the store is a mess, and Josie is staring at him like he's grown a second head.

"You alright there, Grayson?" she checks, narrowing her eyes slightly.

He gulps and nods his head. She's a wonderful partner, infinitely grateful to him for rescuing her from a life on the second shift, but he always has to watch his step around her. According to Batman, Detective MacDonald is more than a little psychic, and the last thing he needs is for her to make the connection between him and his alter-ego. "Just been feeling a little off all day. Might've had some funny milk this morning."

"Chin up, it's only nine," she reminds him. "We've got the whole day ahead of us."

"Right," he says, carefully easing his hand off the pillar. "Tell me some more about this force field? Do we even know what went down here?"

She pulls a notebook from her back pocket, flips it open, and skims. "Someone—Tim thinks probably Nightwing, and she'd know—"

"Wait, who?" If someone at GCPD can recognize his voice, he's going to have to start being more careful, second shift or no.

"Nightwing? Local vigilante, ally of the Batman, though a lot more personable?"

"I know who Nightwing is, I was asking about Tim."

"Tim," Josie says, giving him a look like he's crazy. "She mans the front desk. You two have been doing that weird flirting thing ever since you transferred over from Blüdhaven."

"Oh. I always call her Ms. Drake or Thea." It's how she was introduced to him at some gala, back in the day, when he was still sporting the green scales and before the Drake family moved away from Gotham. If she's the one who recognized him on the phone, it's both better and worse. Better, because as a civilian in the employ of the GCPD, she's responsible with turning on the Signal on the roof of Central and has had her share of interaction with all the Bats. Worse, because she's known him for so long under both his current names.

"Yikes, she hates that name, always goes by Tim," Josie says, wincing slightly. " _Anyway_. She said Nightwing called in an altercation Monday night, something about a robbery and mad science. Second shift tried to check it out, found they couldn't get in when they got here, some invisible force stopped them at the door."

"Nightwing didn't mention a force field when he called it in?" he asks, mostly to create the illusion that he doesn't know, but partly because he remembers being all shaken up the other night. He may have very well noticed it and said something, then forgot after the fact.

"Nope, but she also said he seemed pretty out of it, so maybe he just forgot to bring it up. Too bad he didn't get trapped inside along with it, then we would have him handy to question."

"Yeah," Dick says, forcing a laugh. "Too bad."

* * *

He thinks about grabbing flowers on the way back to Central, but decides that's too pushy and goes with a triple-shot black Americano instead. "Why didn't you tell me you don't want to be called Thea anymore?" he asks, setting the cup down on the front desk.

Tim holds up a finger, pointing to the headset she's wearing. "I'll just forward you now, Mr. Berkshire. I am _so_ sorry about the mix-up, I'll make sure that's corrected as soon as possible. Thank you, you too." She works some kind of voodoo magic on the phone the headset is connected to, then moves the microphone out of the way before turning her attention to Dick. 

"Trouble?" he asks, since after two years working with her here, he's learned to recognize her 'placating the public' voice. It's not all that different from the one she used to use with insufferable leches at galas, back in the day.

"Some idiot put the wrong number for Animal Control on the GCPD website. People who call it have been getting an establishment called the Pink Pussycat Lounge for over a month, so of course no one thought to call and complain about it until now." She smiles at Dick, a smile that grows even wider and more enthusiastic when she notices his peace offering and reaches out for the cup. Her fingertips brushing over the back of his hand and—

> —slipping down further, under the black lace to press and rub just under the dark-stained fabric, their movements clearly aided by the excessive amount of slick already there. Smooth thighs quiver and shake as the movements under the cloth pick up pace, become more frantic.
> 
> "Oh!" comes from above, and though Dick knows he needs to look away, shouldn't be seeing any of this, he somehow can't stop his head from jerking up, staring into Thea's— _Tim's_ —half-closed eyes as she whimpers and moans. Her entire body stiffens, quivers, and he knows she must be climaxing from the way she cries out, loud and piercing. " _Nightwing—!_ "

—she pulls the cup close, popping the lid off so she can inhale deeply. "Now, what were you saying?"

"I, uh. I…" Dick gulps and blinks several times, trying very hard to shake the image from his head. The combination of lack of sleep and bad decaf is clearly getting to him, that's all. "Josie says you don't want to go by Thea anymore?"

She wrinkles her nose, then shrugs. "To be honest, you and my parents are the only ones who still call me that anymore. I've been using Tim since, geez—fifth, sixth grade? Whenever it was I realized I wasn't ever going to be the delicate little debutante my parents always wanted me to be."

Somehow, the thought that he's been calling her the wrong name all these years is a thousand times worse than whatever the hell is wrong with him that he's having completely inappropriate mid-day fantasies. "Yikes, you should have told me sooner! I'm so sorry," he apologizes, hanging his head.

"Hey," she says, reaching out to lift his chin, though he jerks back just before those dangerous fingers can make contact again. "It's okay? You don't mean anything by it, and we've known each other for ages. My parents I don't correct because I know it's useless to try. You I don't correct because you've never made me feel like you have any expectations. You're grandfathered in on the 'old friend' clause."

Dick isn't entirely sure how he feels about that—elated that she's made an exception just for him, depressed that she apparently categorizes him alongside her _parents_ , of all people. "Still, I want to make the effort," he tells her. "Old friends means I should try harder, not less. Tim."

She smiles, her face practically lighting up. "I'd like that, Dick. Thank you."

He pretty much floats back to his desk, where he doesn't even notice Josie poking him in the shoulder until she's been doing it for nearly a minute straight. "What?" he snaps, his good mood broken.

"If you two start doing the dirty, I don't want to know."

"We're not going to—" Dick sighs, lets his head thunk against the unpadded chair back. "I'm pretty sure she views me as a pseudo-older brother."

"Uh huh. Look, I may be an only child, but even I know that's not a sisterly gleam she gets in her eye every time you walk by her desk."

"You really think so?" Dick had been starting to get that impression, but after their conversation just now, he's feeling a lot of doubts.

"I mean, you might have to arm-wrestle Nightwing for her attention, but I'm sure you can manage for the lovely Tim."

"If it's for Tim, I'll take on every Bat in this whole damned city," Dick agrees, though he's more thinking about Jason than anyone else. His little brother can get a bit protective of his best friend when allowed.

* * *

Unlike most of the GCPD, Dick is not afraid to make use of the state-of-the-art crime lab Wayne Enterprises so thoughtfully donated a few years ago. Part of it is because he remembers what it was like making do with ancient equipment back in Blüdhaven, part of it is that he grew up in and around the WE building, and a whole lot of it is that he feels he has to justify such an extravagant donation to Bruce _somehow_. He keeps hoping if the rest of the MCU sees him using the facility, they'll eventually be convinced to try as well. So far, the only members of the GCPD that have set foot inside aside from himself have been Gordon and Josie—the commissioner when the initial donation was made, Josie because she's looking for him.

Of course, the CSI team is also corrupt as hell, so maybe he should be glad they're too proud to set foot in a lab full of very new and expensive equipment. All of it is ideal for resale just as soon as some clever and less-than-scrupulous soul thinks of a way to get it out of the building.

"You know, there are experts back at Central that can analyze that thingamabob just as well as any fancy machine," Josie says, leaning against the wall as Dick adjusts another knob and scans the results being spit out on the melted mass that's all that remains of the thief's ray gun. "Do you even know what you're doing? Those are really sophisticated machines."

"I know," he says, just like he always does. "Don't worry, it's fine." Dick doesn't tell her he does this all the time, that he's probably better trained with this kind of equipment than half the lab techs at Central, but it's on the tip of his tongue, begging to come out. Instead, he narrows his eyes, double-checking the results. "What the…?"

"If you broke it, you get to explain to Wayne what happened," Josie warns, wandering closer.

"I didn't break it, I'm just confused by the results. This says there are remnants of tachyon particles clinging to it, which makes no sense."

"Tachy-what-nows?"

"Tachyons, they generally show up when people are messing with time. Why the hell would someone need to use time travel to rob a jewelry store?" He glares at the screen, willing it to show him something logical.

"Well, could be like Frieze, maybe? He needs diamonds to run his suit, maybe this guy needed diamonds to run his time gun. Or could be he just used it to send the stuff he was stealing to somewhen else." Josie shrugs, clearly unconcerned. "Mad scientists don't do stuff because it makes _sense_ , Grayson. That's why they're 'mad.'"

"Maybe," he agrees. But that's hardly going to stop him from trying to find out more. Tragically, he's pretty much reached the limit of his knowledge when it comes to tachyons. Fortunately, he knows an expert, though he'll have to wait until nightfall to consult with her the way he needs to.

* * *

Part of the advantage of working the first shift at the MCU is that he can do things like this. "Are there any tricks or tips you might be able to recommend if, say, someone were to suddenly gain the ability to see and hear an object's past?" Nightwing asks, dropping down to sit on the fire escape beside Josie.

" _Holy—_ " She starts forward, and it's only his quick reflexes that save her dinner from tipping out of her lap and into the alley below. "Heck! I thought I was done with your lot when I switched to days!"

"Some of 'my lot' work days," he protests, because it feels a little like she's accusing him and his family of constantly badgering her, which really isn't the case at all. At least, not while in the masks. "Superman pretty much exclusively fights crime during daylight hours."

"Oh, well, _Superman_. I hear they have more than three sunny days a year over in Metropolis." Josie rolls her eyes and accepts her gyro back. "Got a bit of backlash from that whats-it the other day, huh? The thing is apparently just _covered_ in time-travel germs, so I'm not surprised you're having problems with it." She takes a bite, chews thoughtfully for a while, then swallows. "Well? Aren't you going to describe your symptoms? Can't help you if I don't know what you're dealing with."

Nightwing hadn't realized there was more than one way to see something's past, but he supposes it's like any science—gather lots of data, examine the evidence, come up with a hypothesis, test it and gather more data. "Seems to only happen when I touch things with my hands."

"Bare handed or gloved?"

"Bare, but I was wearing gloves when the explosion happened."

"But you might _not_ have been. Time shenanigans," Josie says, nodding like she's some great expert on the matter when she was pretty much clueless earlier in the day. "My friend explained it to me. Time is in a constant state of flux. Linear time is actually a fiction we've imposed on reality to keep us from going completely nuts." 

The argument is such a familiar one that Nightwing doesn't have any doubts as to whom Josie is referring to. "One of these days, Ms. Drake is going to complete her degree in forensic science and then no one in this city will be safe."

"If you know her, I don't know why you're not talking to her instead of me," Josie says, lips quirking upwards in a wicked smirk. "She knows a lot more about time travel and fourth-dimensional hoohah than I do, and I'm sure she'd _love_ a chance to get to know you better."

After what he saw earlier, he doesn't doubt that, but he also isn't going to get anywhere near Tim until this whole weird reverse-premonition thing works itself out. "Yes, but you're the one with first-hand experience when it comes to sensing the past of things, while Ms. Drake's knowledge is all purely theoretical." He hopes. Could be Dick Grayson needs to see about putting stricter controls on who from the GCPD can access and make use of the lab at WE.

"Curse you and your logic. Anyway, the indefinite nature of time means that even though you were wearing gloves when the accident went down, you also weren't wearing them because the past, present, and future are all happening simultaneously."

"So it should go away after a while? I don't have anything to worry about?"

"Heck if I know. What I do is a little different—I just get a sense of what's happened to a thing; more snapshots than scenes. And my abilities are natural and inborn, not artificially induced. Like I said, if you really want to know more about this, you should talk to Tim Drake."

"That's really not a good idea."

"I don't know," she says with a leer. "Sounds to me like the best idea I've had in a long time."

* * *

The thing is—Nightwing and Timothea Drake _do_ have a long-standing relationship between them, spawned from back when the Drakes briefly moved to Blüdhaven during Tim's teenage years. She may be too short to join the force as an officer, but she's shown a keen interest in both mundane and meta forensics for years. He's ashamed to admit that he took advantage of that upon occasion, back in the day.

Nightwing has tried very hard to keep from renewing that unlikely partnership since Tim moved back to Gotham. Especially since her working the phone at Central while putting herself through school means she now has divided loyalties. Tim, unfortunately, hasn't really felt the same way.

"Detective MacDonald called to say you'd probably be stopping by," she says, half-leaning out the window that opens out onto the fire escape for her apartment. "Something about an issue with an exploding time gun?"

Nightwing waits until she's away from the window before crawling inside after her, making sure to put plenty of space between them. If what he's been seeing are literal glimpses into the actual past, the last thing he needs is to engage in more accidental voyeurism. Theoretically, the fact that he's mostly covered head to toe should protect him, but Josie's talk of quantum existentialism has left him with the heebie-jeebies.

"I might be slightly unstuck in time. Just a bit," he admits. "I was hoping the detective could tell me a little more about what the GCPD have learned regarding the remains of the gun, since it's in their custody now." It's a safe enough excuse, since he can hardly admit to hoping to get some advice on guiding his visions without outing Josie as a meta herself. "Seeing past events when I touch things, people."

Tim goes still, eyes darting down to Nightwing's hands. "Is that—" She coughs, hits her chest a couple times. "Sorry. Is that so? Well, if you're witnessing past events via touch, it could be you're briefly falling out of phase with your self-ascribed position in the fourth dimension. As a result, you're catching a glimpse of the past as it also exists alongside the present and the future."

He can't help but grimace. "I just want to know how to make it stop. Or get it to show me actual helpful stuff instead of activating randomly at inconvenient times."

"Is that what it's been doing?" she asks, tilting her head to the side as she crowds in close, examining him all over like the scientist he knows she is. "Happening completely randomly? You have no control over it?"

"Absolutely zip," he admits, leaning away as she comes in. He doesn't move fast enough, though—or maybe it's just that Tim always makes his reflexes a bit slower than usual for no good reason—and isn't able to dodge the hands as they shoot up to cup his face as if to draw it down and—

> —this time the hands are skimming over black curls, sliding over pink, slick flesh. There's no sight of any cloth, no satin or lace to obscure, and oh god, they're spreading and rubbing and he has an up-close and personal view of blue-painted fingernails teasing a clit into making an appearance, stroking and rubbing to a series of gasps and moans. "Oh—oh—Nightwing, almost there, just a little more—please, Dick, I—what the _fuck_! _Dick?_ What are you _doing_ here?!"
> 
> His gaze snaps up from where he's been staring and he's looking into Tim's beautiful blue eyes, the haze of arousal quickly clearing from them as she yanks her hand away—

—except it's still cupping his cheek, and Tim is staring at him long and hard. "I'm probably the last person who should be reading someone the riot act about watching someone without permission, but I'm pretty sure there are laws against voyeurism when someone's in their own home."

There are a lot of things that are flying around in his head right now—among them the fact that apparently the phenomena is _not_ limited to his right hand as he previously assumed—but first and foremost are two things. Namely, "You could see me," and, "You called me—I mean. Who's Dick?"

Tim fixes him with a _look_ , but drops her hands and rolls her eyes. "You've been snooping on me getting off for the past few days, I think we're well past the fiction that I don't know exactly who you are, _Dick_."

"I… what?" _What?_

"Please also realize the only reason I'm not punching you in your stupidly handsome face is that I now know you haven't been doing it on purpose. And that I haven't been hallucinating, which is honestly a bit of a relief."

"I… don't know what you're talking about?" he tries, but it's clear she's not buying it and he slumps. Twenty years of successfully hiding his identity only to be outed by a stupid broken time gun. If she's been seeing him each time he's seen her, it doesn't take an idiot to realize that the black-haired detective who's accidentally time traveling is one and the same as the black-haired vigilante who's been doing the same thing. "Tim, you can't tell anyone. It could be very dangerous—not just for me, but for you too."

She rolls her eyes again. "I don't know why you'd think I'd suddenly feel the need to say anything now after all these years when I never have before, but obviously I'm not going to tell anyone."

"All these years… Wait, how long have you known?"

"Since I was nine. It wasn't that hard to put together, once I knew that Robin could pull off aerial tricks only one person in the world could pull off," she says, moving to a coffee table where she has an entire spread of Chinese takeout containers. "I thought for sure you realized I knew back in Blüdhaven, but I guess that was a silly assumption on my part."

"I guess," he says weakly, moving to join her. After a moment's hesitation, he takes out a small container of adhesive remover from a compartment on his gauntlet and spritzes his mask, then removes it. "I'm sorry, about before. I honestly can't control it, and for some reason whenever I come in contact with your hands, I just—well." He feels his cheeks heat up and reaches for another pair of chopsticks and a container of broccoli beef to hide his fluster.

"Yeah, I figured that once I got a good look at your face earlier and knew you'd probably be stopping by later tonight."

He pauses, broccoli halfway to his mouth. "Wait, you planned that?"

"Pretty much. After Josie told me this afternoon about the time travel component, it was pretty obvious something had whammied you good. You were totally out of it on the phone the other night." She digs into her food, seemingly content to leave it at that. Dick knows he should pursue it, but right now he's just grateful she's letting the whole 'accidentally watched you finger yourself multiple times' thing go for now.

He's searching for just the right words to reply to her when the front lock turns and the apartment door swings inwards. "Tim? Did the food come yet? Sorry I'm late, office hours ran long again and—what the _heck?_ "

Dick's so busy scrambling for his mask that he doesn't even register how familiar the voice is until the last minute. " _Jason?_ What the hell are _you_ doing here?"

"I live here," says his little brother, the only member of his family to escape Bruce's crazy crusade. "What the—are you eating all my broccoli and beef? Fucker! _This_ is why I moved out of the manor!"

"He just started eating, I couldn't stop him. There're more chopsticks in the bag," Tim offers, waving at him.

"Ugh, some friend you are, letting him eat all my food," Jason grumbles, dropping his backpack and grabbing the take-out bag Tim holds out to him.

"Wait, you live here? Since when do you live here?" Dick knew Jason had moved out of the manor to be closer to Gotham U, but this is the first time he's heard about Jason and Tim _living_ together. His stomach twists and he can't help but wonder if that also means—if they—

"Why're you wearing that stupid get-up anyway?" Jason asks, distracting Dick by plucking at the Nightwing suit with his chopsticks so he can steal the most desirable box of take-out with his other hand.

"Idiot got himself unstuck in time on patrol the other day and wants me to help him fix it," Tim helpfully provides. "And, ugh, don't touch it with those—do you have any idea how much pigeon crap he rolls through on a nightly basis? So gross."

"Hey, at least _I'm_ not the one having fantasies about the stupid finger stripes, Timberly."

"Oh god, I hope not," Dick gasps, feeling horribly queasy. "You're my _brother_. Speaking of, since when do you two live together? You aren't—I mean—"

"Ew, gross, _no_ ," Tim says, wrinkling her nose and gagging. "He's practically _my_ brother. But Gotham U gives out housing stipends so university staff can live near campus and since he had an extra room, he let me have it when I moved back to Gotham. Seriously, how do you not know this? Stephanie stops by practically every other week."

"As Stephanie or as—" Dick grabs an egg roll and jams it in his mouth before he can say any more. Just because Tim has figured out who he is doesn't mean she knows anyone else's identity.

"As herself, obviously," Jason says, rolling his eyes. "It's not like Tim's shouting it to the rooftops that she knows who everyone is in Dad's little Bat Club. I'm surprised she finally told you, actually."

"It, uh. Came up in the course of the investigation that she knew," Dick mumbles around the roll in his mouth. He chews and swallows, then turns to glare at his brother. " _I_ can't believe you didn't tell the family that our identities had been compromised!"

"Why should I? It's Tim." Jason shrugs, shoving some chow mein in his mouth and then continuing to talk with his mouth full like he isn't Alfred's golden boy the rest of the time. "She's practically family anyway."

Dick would like to argue otherwise, but Jason's always been the member of their family to do things his own way, from choosing to turn his back on the vigilante life after less than six months as Robin to deciding to focus all his attention on having a completely normal civilian life. "Fine, whatever."

"I still can't believe _you_ of all people got yourself unstuck in time after the shit show you gave me when I tried to convince you Dad had done the same thing."

"This isn't like that," Dick insists, his cheeks going hot. He really doesn't need to be reminded of his less than stellar behavior during that particular debacle. "It's, well." He tugs off a glove, then reaches out to touch the back of Jason's hand—

> —a very familiar head of red hair is leaning in, hot breath fogging glasses as wicked lips whisper filthy things into Jason's ear. Calloused hands glide down under the jacket to grab Jason's ass. Jason's very, very naked ass, oh god. "C'mon, Professor. Where are you in such a hurry to go?"
> 
> "I told you, it's Chinese Night. If I'm late, Tim's going to eat all the egg rolls again, and you better hope that doesn't happen for the third time this month."
> 
> "And when do I get to meet lovely Tim?"
> 
> "I don't know, when are you going to finally tell Di—"

"What the—fucking _Roy?_ " Dick yanks back his hand like he's been burnt, betrayal coursing through him.

"W-what are you talking about? What about Roy?" Jason demands, his entire body going stiff.

"And here I thought I was the one with the reputation for redheads." Dick can't believe his best friend would do this to him—with his little brother of all people! Behind his back!

"You dog," Tim crows. "Did you finally net that guy you've been making eyes at for ages? Is that why you keep having late office hours? Why didn't you _say_ anything?"

"Excuse me, can someone tell me what the _fuck_ is going on?" Jason demands.

"Well," Dick says, turning to Tim. "If it's any consolation, it's not just _your_ intimate moments I accidentally end up seeing."

* * *

It takes some doing—Dick spends several frantic minutes fighting Jason off as he explains just what he meant by his off-hand comment—but eventually they all three settle down enough to get back to the problem at hand. Namely, Dick's unfortunate divinations that are apparently actual-fact time travel. "I tried to get Josie to give me some pointers, but she just went off about 'time shenanigans.'"

"Hold up, why the heck would you go to _Josie_ of all people about time travel?" Tim demands. "You know that is basically my favorite geek obsession."

"After blood-spatter interpretation."

"Right, after that."

"And shoe-print and tire-impression witchery."

"That too." Tim rounds on Jason, glaring at him. "Look, it's up in the top ten, okay? Stop trying to derail the conversation, Mr. I-Can't-Introduce-My-Boyfriend-to-Anyone-Because-I'm-a-Freak."

" _I'm_ not the freak," Jason grumbles. "My family on the other hand…"

"It's not my thing to share," Dick hedges. "It made sense to go to her about it before I knew it was actual time travel. To be fair, she told me to go to you."

Tim's eyes narrow, but she relents. "Fine, have your secrets. What _I_ want to know is how we're going to fix this." She twiddles her fingers at him, the glitter in her nail polish sparkling.

"Well, if you could keep them above the waist for the next few weeks until I sort this out, that would probably help," Dick mutters.

"Like hell am I going to do that. I'm not policing what I do during my private time for you or anyone," Tim tells him. " _You_ just need to keep your voyeuristic hands to yourself."

"Seconding this," Jason pipes up, because he is a traitor and a cad.

"Look, I didn't ask for this!" Dick insists. "It just keeps happening. I'd stop it in a heartbeat if I knew how, but I don't so I'm stuck with it for now."

Jason narrows his eyes at Dick, but for once refrains from saying anything, thank heaven for small mercies. Tim, on the other hand…

"You're probably covered in time travel particles that get excited into action whenever you encounter something that had a past experience with a strong personal connection to you," she says, drumming her fingers on the coffee table. "So me thinking about you, Jason thinking about his squeeze who also just happens to be your friend… Have you experienced any other time slippages?"

"Uh. At the jewelry store when I visited the scene with Josie. I flashed back to right after the ray gun exploded, saw myself all frozen in time."

"You didn't touch yourself, did you?" Jason asks, leaning forward. "She may be the time-travel expert but even I know directly interacting with past or future selves is a big no-no that risks disrupting the entire space-time continuum and possibly tearing the fabric of reality."

"What? No, of course not. I was on the other side of the room and it was only for a handful of seconds. And even if I was there longer, I sat through the same _The Time Stream and You!_ presentation that you did." Heck, at least a few of the examples Bruce has in the damned thing are from some of Dick's own experiences working with the Titans. It's like Jason sometimes forgets they grew up with the same paranoid idiot for a father figure.

"Is that really a thing or are you pulling my leg?" Tim demands, looking back and forth between them.

"Sorry, can't tell," Jason says, reaching over to ruffle her hair—and steal her egg roll at the same time. "You aren't part of the super-secret club."

"Technically, neither are you."

"But I was offered an invitation to join, which is more than can be said for you."

Dick remembers it going a bit differently—Jason did the basic training and had to sit through all slide shows and safety lessons, then opted to see a therapist instead of to learn the secrets of the world's best martial artists—but he supposes they shouldn't straight-out say their dad is a paranoid menace. "Children, you're both special and beautiful in your own unique ways and fighting isn't going to fix this problem any faster."

"Still not sure why we have to help you with this when you're the one who fucked things up in the first place," Jason grumbles.

"Hello, did you miss the part where this is _Dick loose in the time stream_?" Tim demands, tossing a fortune cookie at Jason's forehead with surprising accuracy.

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"

"Hush, you. Do you really _want_ him mucking up the space-time continuum because he's covered in time travel germs and can't be bothered to just wear gloves until he gets over this?"

"I came here for help, and honestly I'm feeling so attacked right now."

"Damn well should. You're the idiot who thought mixing a high-voltage electrical charge with unknown tech would be an awesome idea," Jason snaps back. "Oh, yeah. I talk to O also. She likes to share mission reports when you pull really dumb, nominates-you-for-a-Darwin-Award shit."

Tim narrows her eyes. "Who's O?"

"Someone you will never ever meet," Dick says quickly because—no. _No_. It would be just so much bad news if the two of them ever ended up in a room together, between Babs's uncanny computer abilities and Tim's uncanny… _Timness_. He does not need a disaster of that magnitude happening in this or any other lifetime.

"Friend from my book club and Dickie's ex," Jason says blithely. "I'll introduce you this weekend. You two'll be thick as thieves in no time."

"Anyway," Dick says loudly, eager to get off _that_ particular line of conversation. "Back to the topic at hand." He waves his hands in the air, bare and vaguely threatening with all their terrifying potentiality. "Sort of a pressing matter, y'know."

"Eh, not really," Jason says, shrugging off his concern.

"Yeah, should wear off in a few weeks' time as long as you keep your grubby little hands to yourself."

"You have no idea if it's even going to wear off," Dick reminds them. "Weird mad science, remember?"

"Incredible time travel nerd, remember?" Tim shoots back. "I read a lot of journals in my spare time, and sometimes I do freelance stuff for S.T.A.R. Labs."

That's certainly news to him. "Uh, what? Tim, if S.T.A.R. wants you, what the hell are you doing answering phones for the GCPD?"

"Because she's an idiot who doesn't know how to fangirl in appropriate ways," Jason says in between bites.

" _Jason_ ," Tim hisses, trying and failing to jab him with her chopsticks.

"What? It's not like I don't know anymore. Or did you forget your little fashion statement?" Dick ducks his head and feels his ears heat up as Jason gives Tim's hands a rather pointed look.

"Maybe I work for the GCPD because I want to help people. It's not like they'll let me be a cop with how short I am, and we can't all pull off spandex with your pizzazz, you know."

"Well," Dick says, because now he's thinking about Tim in spandex—spandex in _his_ colors specifically because of that damned nail polish. He vaguely wonders if Cheyenne still has any of her ill-fated catsuit line around before he bites down hard on his lip, cutting off that particular train of thought.

"And don't even get me started on how you're an absolute hypocrite, dressing up like this at night and wearing a badge during the day," Tim warns as she jabs her chopsticks at him, forcing him to back up a few feet. He hadn't even realized he'd moved so close during the course of the conversation.

Dick sighs. Right, time travel germs. "Alright, fine. I guess I'll go talk to Booster or someone about it if you can't help. Thanks for the food." He sets down his chopsticks and rises, pressing his mask back in place.

"But we haven't even figured out how to fix it," Tim says, staring up at him. "You can't leave yet."

"She's got a point. Not much Booster Gold can help you with that we can't also do between the two of us," Jason says.

"Something tells me an actual time traveler might be a better bet than a receptionist and an English teacher."

"Excuse you, English _professor_. Not all of us dropped out of college, Dickface."

"And I have a computer science degree, it's just the M.S. in forensic science I'm still working on," Tim snaps. "Just because someone's from the future doesn't mean they know how time travel works. Heck, if they did, they'd know time travel is too stupid and dangerous to even bother doing."

"What she said."

"Look, Booster isn't just—" Dick swallows down the rest of his protest, belatedly remembering that while Jason is practically part of the community, Tim definitely isn't and there's a lot of stuff he shouldn’t be talking about with her here. "The Justice League has a lot of resources at its disposal that aren't available to the public."

"He means Superman's secret alien base," Jason supplies, and Dick glares. "What, you pretty much do, don't you? It's not like I said where it is or how to get in or anything. Cool it, birdbrain."

Dick wants to protest, but it's probably better to just leave it and pray Tim doesn't follow up that not-so-subtle clue. Thankfully, she has her attention full with other problems.

"My primary concern at this point in time is the fact that you seem to actually be traveling through time _and_ space when it activates," Tim says, frowning at her chow mein. "Moving through time is one thing—technically, all times exist simultaneously and really what we perceive as the present is only because our feeble ape brains can't actually wrap themselves around anything more complex without going completely insane."

"Right, Josie mentioned something like that," Dick says, more to get her to move on than because he really understands it. The basics, sure—like he said, he saw the same presentation as Jason. Anything more complicated than that, though, and his head starts to hurt.

"You're moving through space also, though," Jason says, Tim nodding in furious agreement. "Space isn't like time, it's an actual thing—moving through it should cost energy. What we need to figure out is where that energy is coming from."

"Not always," Dick interjects.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm not always moving through space. When I was at the jewelry store and went back to the night of the incident—I was in the exact same place, just three nights earlier." Come to think of it, it's entirely possible he's been moving through time while hanging out at his apartment during his brief rest periods between his day and night gigs. With the blackout curtains shut, he has no way to know the time of day, and he's got enough on his plate right now that he's far from aware enough to read a clock with any real accuracy. Mostly, he just sets alarms and prays he gets to where he needs to be in a timely manner.

"Oh, but—" Tim frowns momentarily, then the color drains out of her face. "At the store—what did you touch that sent you through time? It couldn't have been Josie, she wasn't there when the gun exploded."

"A column, what of it?"

Beside him, Jason immediately starts swearing. "Crap. Crap, crap, _crap_."

"Hey what is it?" Dick demands, glancing from his brother to his friend, who's looking decidedly sick to her stomach. "You're kinda scaring me here."

"I can't be certain without running tests and such, but I suspect the times that you've move through time _and_ space have all been when you've come in contact with another living thing," Tim says, leaning heavily into Jason, who automatically wraps his free arm around her. "Probably you only go through time when you're touching something inanimate, less potential end all that."

Dick shakes his head, feeling a little dumb. "Sorry, you've lost me. Is that significant somehow?"

"What she's saying, Dickie, is that you're an energy sink," Jason snaps, glaring at him. "Every time you sneak a peek on someone's private life, you're sucking the energy right out of them to do it. You're a fucking _vampire_."

"Oh, that's not fair," Tim protests, pushing at his arms. "It's not like he's doing it on purpose."

"Hah, shows what _you_ know about Mr. Nosey Nancy here," Jason snaps. "This has seriously reached Threat Level Orange, I'm calling in the big guns and getting you benched. You're a danger to everyone around you until this gets fixed."

"What? Jay, that's excessive, I'm sure we can figure this out between the three of us," Dick insists, though he's already dropping his chopsticks, tugging his gloves back on. He's only traveled a handful of times while touching another person, but three of those times have been with Tim, and who knows what kind of hell a fourth interaction between them might end up bringing.

Jason raises an eyebrow at him. "Bet we can get a lot more done if we cut you out of the conversation entirely," he grumbles before pointedly turning his back to Dick.

"Hey, Jay, don't be like that—"

"Considering what you probably saw of him and his guy, I'd leave him be for now," Tim says, stopping herself right before she gives Dick's shoulder a consoling pat.

He slumps. This whole time-travel germs thing is the _worst_.

* * *

It takes some doing, but through a bunch of fancy talking Dick manages to convince Jason to hold off informing the big man of his little problem until the end of the week. That only gives him a couple of days extra to work this out, which isn't ideal, but better than nothing. Maybe even enough time for him to figure out a fix for this on his own.

"Hey," Tim says as she opens the window for him to leave through, making sure to stay well clear of him even though he's got both gloves back on and shouldn't be any sort of threat to anyone. "Just wanted you to know that I get that you didn't mean it. And why you didn't tell me what was going on the first time it happened."

Unfortunately, Nightwing's inky-dinky little domino mask does nothing to hide the furious pink flush that suffuses his cheeks at that. "I, uh, I swear I didn't know what was going on and I never would have—"

"Relax, Dick. I get that too, no matter what yonder idiot thinks or says," she assures him, rolling her eyes and smiling fondly as she glances back to where Jason is still glaring daggers at him as he angrily mows his way through an impressive amount of broccoli and beef. "You're a good guy, he's just overly protective. From what I hear, it's something that runs in the family."

Dick gulps and musters a smile of his own, still feeling uncomfortable and awful about the whole thing. "For what it's worth, I am definitely viewing the whole thing as something I imagined and am doing my damnedest to wipe it from my memory."

"Sounds like a good plan," she says. "Certain things are meant to stay private, after all."

"Yes, exactly, I get that," he says in a rush, nodding furiously.

"Including things like one's brother's romantic relationships," she adds, fixing him with a look.

"But—"

"He didn't tell you because he was afraid of how you'd react to him being involved with one of your lot when he's made it clear in the past he isn't interested in that life." She glances back over her shoulder and his gaze follows hers, but Jason has turned his back to them in apparent protest. It doesn't _look_ like he's listening. Probably.

"Wait, how do _you_ know about—?" Dick bites off the end of his question, just barely stopping himself from saying something he shouldn't.

"About Jason's 'mysterious' redhead? Please, Richard, I'm not an _idiot_ ," Tim says as she slips back inside, closing the window behind her.

* * *

Tim and Jason seem stuck on the idea of time travel, but Dick keeps coming back to that force field and the way the store looked when he finally made it in there with Josie. The whole place was trashed, looking completely different from how he left it as Nightwing, and yet the force field means that he was the last one in that store after everything that went down.

The trashed store also means that there must have been a way past the forcefield while it was still up. But, since the security cameras were blown along with everything else when the ray gun went kablooey, the only way anyone's going to find out what happened in that store is if they can turn back time.

Luckily, Dick knows a guy. Or, well, he is a guy. Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.

But he can do that tomorrow. Tonight, he needs some sleep—especially since he still has to make at least a pretense of doing patrol if he wants to keep Bruce off his back, plus he's trying very hard to actually manage at least five hours a night now that he has a regular day job.

Once again, he thinks longingly of Bruce's offer to find him something to do at WE, where he could come in at the very reasonable time of 'vaguely before noon' and disappear at a moment's notice every time there's a threat to the safety of the planet, or at least the eastern seaboard.

But no, that way lies madness. Also, he's fairly certain that Bruce's theoretical position is really just a glorified babysitting job to make sure Damian doesn't terrorize the majority of WE in his effort to prove himself. Dick's got more than enough on his hands just dealing with Tim and the GCPD.

* * *

"So, about last night," he starts as soon as he gets into Central, then stops when he sees Tim's not alone at the front desk.

"Last night? Do I want to know?" Josie asks, glancing back at Tim.

"His brother's my roommate, we ran into each other when he showed up for a surprise visit." Tim shrugs, waving a hand. "Detective Grayson thought he could get me on his side in his argument against Jason's boyfriend, which is _stupid_ , because Roy is a sweetheart who only cares about making Jason happy."

He opens his mouth to protest, because Arsenal is a _vigilante_ , mixed up in all kinds of things and people that Jason isn't even close to being able to handle, not with his limited, severely out-of-date training. Of course, Dick's a vigilante too, and Tim is, well, _Tim_. His eyes stray to her pink-glossed lips, then down to her sparkly nails. "Right," he says, shoving his own hands in his pockets. "Just, it was a bit of a shock. Roy and I've been friends since we were kids and I never in a million years saw this coming."

"Childhood friends turned to adult sweethearts. Cute," Josie says, smirking at him.

"It happens," Dick says, glancing around the room for something, anything to look at that isn't Tim's tricksy, terrifying fingers. There, the bulletin board, that's safe enough. "I'm… gonna go over the logs. See if there're any other places our perp hit and if there's any kind of pattern to what he's been taking."

"You do that. The techies are still backed up, can't get to our ray gun until next week," Josie says, still grinning.

"Good luck," Tim calls after him.

Dick flees.

* * *

Tim and Jason have all these crazy theories about tachyon particles and energy. While Dick is sure they know a lot more about all that than he does, he's the only one out of the three of them with nearly a lifetime of vigilantism under his belt. The thing about encountering the impossible on a regular basis for the entirety of your teen years on is that you quickly realize there are things that tests and theories can't help with. Sometimes, all you can do is act.

Which would be why, after bidding Josie adieu at the end of the day and getting a whole three hours of quality napping done, Dick is back out in the blue and black, flying across the city, intent on solving this thing his own way.

He tried to be careful all day, working hard not to touch anyone or thing, but as a very tactile person, it's a hard thing to manage. As it is, he has to do a little extra legwork at the start of the evening before making his way to the Diamond District, tracking down evidence for another case and sending it on to those detectives at Central that Nightwing has understandings with. It's that or try to explain to his boss that he accidentally witnessed an assault he wasn't present for occur when he made a mistake of comforting the victim after the fact. He has a whole new level of respect for his partner and her own particular meta ability, even if it isn't quite the same as what he's currently dealing with.

Once that's taken care of, he's swinging through the air, flipping and twirling his way back to the jewelry store. The security system is still shorted out from the electrical surge the other day, and it's not too difficult for him to slip past the police tape and through a back window. Passing through the undisturbed backrooms, he pauses in the doorway leading to the showroom, taking in the chaos there.

It still doesn't make any sense, all the destruction. The moment of his escrima stick connecting with the ray gun is burned in his memory, and he's certain there was nothing like this at that time. Just a sooty circle on the stone floor, a wrecked gun, and a pair of smoking boots. The boots and the circle are still there now, untouched by whatever whirlwind swept through after he left, and that somehow makes it worse.

Swallowing down his trepidation, Nightwing tugs off first one, then both of his gloves, tucking them into the waist of his suit for now. Last time he was here, he flashed to that critical moment of collision. He didn't understand a lot of what Tim and Jason said the other night, but he was able to take away that he seems to be observing significant moments in a chronological fashion.

Stepping to the center of the room, he kneels down and touches the empty boots still fused to the floor and—

> —falls backwards on his ass, startled out of what should have been a solid pose by the world around him swirling in quiet shapes and loud colors. None of his past flashes have resulted in temporary synesthesia, though, so it could be he's finally getting somewhere.
> 
> When he rights himself and sees the man in front of him, he knows he is.
> 
> "Hey, Booster. Fancy meeting you in the time stream." He gives a little wave, smiling at the other man in his time sphere.
> 
> "Nightwing?! Holy—just a minute!" The side of the sphere slides up and a blue-gloved hand reaches out, grabbing Dick's hand and yanking him in. This time, the contact doesn't result in an additional flash, though he isn't sure if that should be attributed to the fact that he's already flashing or to Booster Gold's own special brand of wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey.
> 
> The sphere shuts behind him, blocking out the cacophony of color and allowing Nightwing enough peace of mind to tug his gloves back on. "So, funny story. Apparently when someone who's covered in time-travel germs touches something else covered in time-travel germs, _shenanigans_ occur." He rubs his arms, glancing around. Normally, he's snapped back to the present by now. Though he's also both never lost his touchpoint when traveling nor encountered another time traveler before. And, of course, there's the lovely fact that absolutely nothing about any of this is _normal_.
> 
> "I feel like I should be a bit more confused by that statement, but considering that I'm currently on the tail of an inter-millennial time thief armed with stolen 27th-century tech, I should probably be questioning you for details," Booster observes, adjusting first one dial and then another on the sphere's dashboard.
> 
> "Would this stolen tech happen to look like a futuristic ray gun and quite possibly run on diamonds?" Nightwing asks, eagerly leaning in. He _knew_ he was right about ignoring Tim's cautions about the delicate nature of time and space and just hitting up an expert for help.
> 
> "More like runs on amber and I think it's technically some kind of repurposed stapler, but design aesthetics in the 27th century get a little wacky."
> 
> "Sounds like your guy is my guy. Unfortunately, I think I might have erased him from existence earlier in the week? And caused a hole in the fabric of reality while catching a case of the time-skips. Speaking of, I'm surprised I haven't jumped back to my own time yet."
> 
> "The time sphere acts as a sort of barrier against the reassertion of reality," Booster says, waving a hand.
> 
> "Good to know," Nightwing says with a nod, before launching into an explanation of the week he's had.
> 
> * * *
> 
> "So what I'm thinking," Booster says when Dick finally finishes, "is that the extra electricity from your stick managed to momentarily cause an energy surge in time pulser, sending the guy into someplace between whens."
> 
> "Great, but why wasn't I sent through also? And what about his boots?"
> 
> "Well, I'd assume you have some kind of grounding or protection against electricity, since you have no problem throwing it around as a weapon. That probably protected you, kept you from getting caught up in the shockwave. Same thing for the perp's boots—rubber soles and all that," Booster observes as he adjusts dials and twists knobs on the time sphere's control console.
> 
> "And the forcefield? There wasn't one when I left, but it apparently popped up right after and kept the police out for several days."
> 
> "Now _that_ is probably my fault," Booster says, and he throws a large switch, sending the sphere hurtling through through the time stream swirling around them. "Protection against paradox, y'know. Can't have someone accidentally observing you when you're supposed to be somewhere else and all that."
> 
> "Does anyone even pay attention to where you are anymore?" Nightwing wonders. "You kinda fell off the grid when you took up the whole time cop gig."
> 
> "Surprisingly enough, I'm just as subject to the rules of paradox as the next person. Still, in this case I actually meant you," Booster observes as the sphere bounces to a halt and the door swings open. "Feel like walking me through a crime scene?"
> 
> * * *
> 
> Booster is definitely a bit different from how Nightwing remembers him, back when he ran with Max Lord's little group. Less self-absorbed, more driven, definitely more focused. He's not sure if the potential has always been there or if this is something that was dumped on Booster along with his new responsibilities. Or perhaps something that happened as a result of being forced to grow up at last in the face of too many losses. Either way, he isn't the same, even if his jokes are still just as flat as ever.
> 
> "—at which point I called it into the GCPD and left," Nightwing finishes, turning around to get a look around the room. He can't see the forcefield from here, though he's been assured that it's definitely there.
> 
> Booster nods distractedly, holding up a device that looks a little like an old and clunky flip phone, glancing between the screen and the surroundings as he adjusts dials, pushes buttons. "Look, half the amber in that case is missing. Definitely my stapler thief. Speaking of, we'll have to pick that up later. There are too many people in this century capable of fixing it to risk leaving it."
> 
> "Why not just take it now? It's right there." Nightwing gestures to the twisted hunk of metal and plastic lying on the floor next to the boots.
> 
> "Can't, you already saw it after the field came down, which means taking it now could cause all kinds of paradox problems."
> 
> "Really? It's that important?" Nightwing is fairly sure it wouldn't change the time line much to have the gun missing, but he supposes Booster is the expert
> 
> "Paradoxes are _always_ important," Booster says, something dark behind his eyes. "There are some things about the past you just can't change. It's better to mess with them as little as possible to avoid finding out what they are."
> 
> "Right, okay." Nightwing glances back at the boots, biting his lip. "So, my perp. Any chance of tracking him down in the time stream?"
> 
> "Yeah, no, he's probably been blasted to smithereens and scattered across the time stream. Totally not your fault—it's only a matter of time with these jailbroken staplers."
> 
> "Still, I shouldn't have—"
> 
> "Seriously, _not_ your fault at _all_. If you want, I'll even drop in and tell the big bad Batman exactly that."
> 
> Eek. Booster justifying his actions is definitely not the sort of thing Nightwing ever needs to have happen in his life. "No. No, I think I'm good. Thanks, Booster."
> 
> "No problem. Feel like I still kinda owe you Bats a few favors anyway."
> 
> "What?"
> 
> "Never mind," Booster says, opening the side of the time sphere and gesturing for him to enter. "What's past is past."

* * *

Noticing a familiar figure slipping out the door as he stands in line with Josie, Dick feels torn. "You know what I want, right? There's something I need to do."

"After this long, I should hope so. Four fish tacos with extra guac and sour cream, right?"

"Right! I'll meet you out front after," he calls back over his shoulder, already halfway out the door.

Once outside, he's afraid he's too late, but then the crowd shifts and he sees his quarry less than half a block away, momentarily paused and looking down. Dick hurries over, grabbing a shoulder as he gets close.

A lifetime of training means he rolls with the flip, but even then he's caught so off-guard that he doesn't manage to evade it, feeling himself flying through the air to slam down on the sidewalk, the people walking to either side easily shifting their paths to go around him.

"Watch it, asshole—Dick? What the hell?" Tim demands, glaring down at him.

"Hey," he says, sketching a half-wave in her direction. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. You're pretty good at that."

"Thank your brother. He's the one who encouraged me to take up Krav Maga again," she says, stretching out a hand and starting to lean forward before she freezes, her eyes darting to his bare hands.

Dick laughs, wincing a little as he braces against the cold pavement with those same hands and pushes himself to his feet. "Relax, I'm safe again. A friend helped me out with the whole thing, declared me no longer a danger to myself or others."

"I'm sure there are a number of people who would dispute that," she says, already stepping away and clearly intent on slipping back into the flow of the lunchtime crowd.

"The scum of the Earth," he concedes, though he wouldn't put it past certain members of his family to agree with that scum. "Anyway, I'm glad I ran into you. Now that I have a clean bill of health, I was thinking maybe dinner?"

"Good for you. Regular meals are a sign of being a responsible adult."

"Dinner with you," Dick clarifies. "What do you say?"

This gets Tim to stop, then twist about to stare at him. "I'm sorry, I think I must be having hearing problems, since that sounded like you were asking me out on a date—rather badly, I might add."

"Look, I like you, you like me—I don't see what the problem is here," he says, perhaps sounding a little more defensive than necessary.

Tim sets down her coffee cup on a planter so she can readjust her scarf. "Wrong. You think I'm interesting and I'm sexually attracted to you. Completely different situation."

"Still not seeing a problem here."

She sighs. "Setting aside the fact that neither of us has the time to engage in a relationship right now—no, don't argue, you're doing two full-time jobs and I've got the GCPD, school, _and_ the occasional freelance consult for S.T.A.R. Labs—I don't date."

"Bogus. You and Stephanie dated," Dick shoots back. Not that he's exactly proud of making a move on her ex, but Jason made it very difficult to _not_ know his thoughts on the topic of his best friend dating their sister, back in the day.

"Which is what people sometimes do when they're figuring out who they are. Steph and I tried it, we decided we worked better as friends with occasional benefits, she went on to have that long-distance thing with that weirdo farm kid, I went on to have a delightfully drama-free life," Tim says, grabbing her coffee and turning to leave.

"Wait, I don't—we've been flirting for months and that's it?" It's confusing to say the least, but Dick is also the first to admit that he's not always the best at reading women. "Am I supposed to, what—wait until you finish your degree and try again?"

"Okay, wow." Tim's head snaps around and she glares at him with such ferocity that Dick finds himself involuntarily taking a step back. "First of all, being polite, respectful, and friendly isn't flirting. It's having good people skills, which is pretty important when someone is working as a receptionist. Secondly, no. This is not a case of 'whoops, try again later.' This is a 'never going to happen' situation. Not that it's any of your business, but I don't date because I'm _aromantic_ —I do not experience romantic attraction. Dating implies an emotional commitment that I just cannot make."

"But, Stephanie—"

"Steph and I worked for as long as we did because I love her dearly—in a completely platonic way. A way that just happens to be open to the occasional sexual adventure when she's between relationships." Tim shrugs. "As I said—I am _sexually_ attracted to you, not romantically. Since I know you don't do purely physical things, obviously it's never going to happen."

"I could do a physical relationship." Dick has had more than one relationship over the years that's been heavy on the sex side, he doesn't see how this would be all that different. Plus, he's incredibly charming—he's certain he can change her mind on the topic of romance if given enough time. "You could at least give me a chance."

"Oh, fuck you, Dick," Tim snarls, her fingers clenching so hard around her cup that the lid pops off. Thankfully, it seems to be mostly empty since hardly any liquid goes flying.

"What? What'd I say?"

"Setting aside the fact that you're being a complete jackass by not taking no for an answer, it's clear that you don't have a clue what _aromantic_ means. If you did, you would be backpedaling away so fast you'd probably be half-way to Metropolis by now. I don't do committed, loving relationships. I do friendships, and sometimes I have sex in strictly non-romantic engagements. This is not something that will change, this is not something that I _want_ to change. This is just me and who I am."

"But—"

"If you don't drop it, I _will_ report you for workplace harassment," she snaps, leaning over to pick up the lid from her cup. "And, seriously? Asking out the woman who you've been calling by a name only her _parents_ use anymore? Something tells me that'd be a turnoff to even someone who _was_ interested in dating you." Shoving the lid in her pocket, she storms off down the street, people hurrying to get out of the way of her and the stormcloud around her.

"Shot down, huh?"

Glancing back, he's somehow unsurprised to see Josie standing behind him, looking more than a little amused. "Don't tell me you knew about this?"

"Tim put up a flyer for an ace and aro support group on the public bulletin board over six months ago, Grayson. The contact number for more info is her personal cell. For a detective, you're really not so good at this, are you?"

"I want to say something about hindsight being 20/20, but something tells me you wouldn't appreciate it," he grumbles.

"What was that?"

"Nothing." Dick sighs, falling into step beside her as they head back to the car. "It's all in the past, now."

* * *

"I still can't believe you actually thought you'd get anywhere with Tim," Jason says in between laughter when Dick goes to him that evening, looking for some kind of sympathy.

Dick glares at him. "Thanks a lot. You could have told me about her weird no-dating thing."

The laughter cuts off abruptly and Jason glares at him. "It's _not_ a 'weird no-dating thing,' Dickhead. Tim's _aro_ , she doesn't date because she doesn't think it's fair to other people to pretend that she can give them something she just _can't_."

"Yeah, that whole thing—she's seeing someone, right? I mean, not being able to feel 'romantic love' is basically a psychological problem, isn't it?" Dick doesn't mean to pry into Tim's business, but she's his friend. He wants to be sure she's getting the help she needs.

"Dick, you're my brother and I love you, but if you honestly keep this up I'm going to have to punch you in the face," Jason snaps. "There is nothing _wrong_ with Tim anymore than there's anything 'wrong' with me because I'm dating a man."

"Hey, woah, I never said there was anything wrong about you and Roy—I'm fine with you guys!" Mostly, now that he's had a little time to come to terms with it. "It was just a bit of a surprise."

"Yeah, well, some people would think it's something 'wrong' that needs fixing," Jason says, settling against the doorway of his office, arms crossed and emphasizing the fact that while he may have left off on the family nighttime hobby, he still keeps up with a fair amount of the physical training.

Dick blinks slowly, trying hard not to let himself be distracted by Jason's very intimidating fists or the fact that his little brother now has several inches on him. "So you're saying this is like sexuality. An inborn thing that's just a part of her, nothing to be done about it."

"Right. And if you deny that, you're no better than her parents."

"Her parents…?"

Jason snorts, rolling his eyes. "What, you didn't think Tim was putting herself through college out of the goodness of her heart, did you? Naw, Mommy and Daddy Drake didn't take to kindly to their darling daughter up and telling them to stop parading eligible young heirs in front of her, she's quits with relationships."

Dick's stomach twists as he remembers Tim saying how the only other people who still call her Thea are her parents. "Damn, I really screwed this up, didn't I?"

"You better apologize to her. If not, well. I happen to know a very good sniper."

* * *

Dick heads home to write up a report for the Cave on the jewelry store and then sleep most of the night through—time-travel germs, it seems, take a lot out of a guy. He takes the back way into the station the next morning, not really feeling up to facing the consequences of his actions just yet.

He's just finishing up his official report on the incident—and, yes, reusing a good chunk from the Bat report because why not—when Josie plants herself on the edge of his desk. "Apparently the ray gun from that jewelry heist disappeared from Evidence last night. No one knows what happened, there's just a blip in the surveillance and then it's gone."

"Weird," he says, adding a final period and scrolling back to the top to skim for typos. "The masks generally try to leave evidence for conviction, not steal it. Think it might be a sign of a bigger job in the works?"

"Pretty sure Sawyer's gonna chalk it up to 'time shenanigans' and leave it at that. Shove over, I'll proof that for you." She pokes him in the side and nods to his screen.

"Eh, I don't mind."

Josie fixes him with a _look_. They both know exactly what Dick thinks of having to sit still and review his own work. "Sure, but you also have more important things to do." She passes him a cup of hot, black coffee.

"Someone finally restocked the regular?" He perks up immediately, gladly accepting the cup.

"Thirty minutes ago. Go on and mend some bridges already, Grayson."

He doesn't need to be told twice and quickly hurries out to the front desk.

This time, Tim is headset-free, fingers flashing as they fly across the screen of her phone in an impressive display of dual-handed texting. She doesn't pause or look up when he approaches and sets the cup next to her, though it does elicit a snort. "It's going to take more than shitty breakroom coffee to save you this time, _Dick_."

He winces but doesn't even try to deny it. There's no point, after all. "That's an initial peace offering, not an apology."

"Good." She drops the phone on the desk and leans back in her chair, taking a long sip from the cup. Unsurprisingly, she's unfazed by the high temperature.

"I talked to Jason," he says. "I'm sorry I didn't understand what you were telling me yesterday. I'd never heard of aromanticism before, not that it's any excuse for how I behaved."

"No," she agrees, "it's not. Dick, I've had people telling me I'm wrong about myself and what I want since I was a little kid—I don't _really_ want an unladylike hobby like martial arts, I don't _really_ want to be called Tim, I don't _really_ want to study computer science instead of business, I don't _really_ know what I want when it comes to relationships. I didn't need one of my oldest friends trying to pull the same BS on me that my parents, nannies, tutors, counselors—practically _everyone_ aside from your brother has been pulling on me for over twenty years."

"You're here, you're queer, and you won't take 'No, dear'?" Dick says before he can stop himself. It's an automatic reaction after all this time. Stressful situation, time to pull out the jokes to try and diffuse it.

Tim glares at him over the coffee cup, clearly not the least bit diffused. "Yes, exactly."

He coughs, rubbing the back of his neck as he tries to regain some ground. "Right, sorry, not the time. Look, like I said, I talked to Jason and he kinda gave a little of an idea what of this whole 'aromantic'—aro?—thing is. But only the bare basics, and I'd like to know more."

"The internet exists and is a thing. Other members of your family may do better at the whole 'detective' thing, but I know you can operate a search engine. Even throw in some Boolean parameters if you're feeling fancy."

"Yeah, but the internet can give conflicting information sometimes, and I was kinda hoping I could get the run-down from an expert? Seeing as how it's a crucial part of one of my oldest friends, I want to get this right." Dick sighs and leans on the counter that runs around the desk, then immediately backs off again when he realizes that could be construed as intimidating. "Please?"

The tension bleeds out of Tim's shoulders and she lets her chair spring back upright. "Sure, Dick. I'd like that," she says as she sets the coffee down and picks up her phone again. "Though it'll have to be some other night, I've got plans this evening." Her lips curl upwards in a wicked grin.

"Oh?"

She grins and nods, waving the phone. Light from the windows catches on her nails once more, and Dick is surprised to see they've changed yet again, this time to an alternating pattern of sparkly purple and black. Her thumbnails each sport a tiny, yellow bat. "Steph's dumped her latest loser, and it's time for a girls' night to help cheer her up."

Dick fails to repress a shudder—nothing will ever top getting an eyeful of Jason and _Roy_ , but he really doesn't need to know the details of his littlest sister's bedroom exploits. "Right, well. You two have fun with that?"

Tim laughs, spinning around in her chair. "Don't worry, we will."

**Author's Note:**

> [I have a tumblr!](http://themandylion.tumblr.com/) Come visit if you want ridiculous AU headcanons, rants about the English language (and/or educational publishing), history fangirling, adorable baby bats, and veeeeery occasional fanart. Also, because I am an actual human being with opinions of my own, sometimes I post or reblog things that reflect those opinions. If you can't handle the idea of someone existing in the universe and possessing opinions which differ from your own, you probably should not click on that link.


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